Two Poems by Lyn Lifshin

THE DAUGHTER I WON’T HAVE

would curl as
close, closer than
the cat, afternoons
the wild plum
starts opening,
her shape, still a
part of me. It
seems she would
fit into the
hollows of my
body as she
once did. March
birds thru the
shutters, mint tea
in a glass near
the bed, pealed
oranges, a freeze
frame where nothing
moves. Fragrant
skin, maple buds
opening. Still-
ness, her warm
blonde hair,
sun sweet, all
I’d need if
I had her
____________

WITH YOU

it was never a
quiet Sunday afternoon,
never calm as sky
on an empty bed light
falls under near
windows you
could smell the
sea from. Nothing
simple as a
child riding her
bike up a dirt road,
no field with
new foals, nothing
still and peaceful as a
summer glider,
cats sleeping on
green that
moves slowly in
a lilac wind